


oblivion

by leprixx



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-18 07:54:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leprixx/pseuds/leprixx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he finds her again as summer starts</p>
            </blockquote>





	oblivion

HELLO DARKNESS  
HELLO SUNSHINE

+

he finds her again as summer starts, brought on by his own hunger and her ever-current despair, the grief she tries to hide but that consumes, envelops, weights. 

the air feels hot, around her, impossibly humid and heavy, sweat collecting at the dip of her collarbone, the back of her knees, the soft skin behind her ears. 

she doesn't turn from where she's crouched, doesn't look up and doesn't stop the petting of the kitten that has now fallen quiet, terrorized. but her heart, oh, her heart sings a thousand songs, as he stands there and watches her, analyzes, assess.

+

he swallows her. bit by bit, at nights when she can't fall asleep, at mornings when she yawns young and warm and woman.

eventually, she starts leaving her windows open, and he hides in the shadows of her home, feeds from the shadows beneath her eyes. 

"you can come" she says, hair coloring her pillow, legs and arms warm and soft and smooth and safe under the covers.

he breathes - he breathes her in, and then air, and he never had the need for air before.

+

he shows himself after she's done crying over her broken heart.

 _i can take it_ he doesn't say. he's breathing in her perfume and swallowing her pain. greedy, and feeling pieces of her settle on the hollows of his bones. "hello" he says, instead.

"hello" she says, shaky, curious, hurt. fresh and clean.

_i can take it all away._

+

she's painting her nails bright pink when he feels it first, the burn and stretch of growing skin.  
he's not surprised - he sees all, and he has known, and she grows weaker every time he fills his lungs.

her ribcage moves, steady, useless, a mockery of defense.

he lets her.

+

he comes through the window as she's slipping into her pyjamas. he follows the curve of her breast to the line of her stomach with his eyes, and when he looks up to her face it's pink and she's speaking meaningless and fast. 

he stays quiet, and wonders about the wholeness of her- about her unblemished skin, and the way her thighs touch when she finally sits on the bed, quiet, face still flushed.

+

she touches him, one day. goes to him with tentative footsteps and then stops just a breath away - raises her hands and lets it hover just over the blackness in him, the gap that has begun to knit.

he doesn't breathe - he needs to, now, but he stops, and his lungs burn as the tip of her finger touches the edge of it, her nail sinks into the sensitive flesh building itself over the void. 

it feels - it feels like taking it all in, and he moves his eyes, keeps his face still, and watches as the tips of her fingers darken, as the lines of her veins blacken as the darkness runs up her wrist, arm, spreads on the skin of her shoulder. she lets out a small sound, and moves her hand, away, right to the place where his heart should be.

when he looks up, her cheeks are wet with salt and her chin wet with blood.

+

he lies beside her, one day. she's curled tight under the blankets, shoulders shaking in sobs. he doesn't know why she's crying, this time - doesn't ask, but the sheets are cold under his body and the mattress impossibly soft.

he exhales, and closes his eyes.

when he opens them again, the room is flooded with light, and her skin is cold where it spreads under his hands, blankets thrown over her legs, his feet. her hair is still soft, a mess over her face and shoulder and rise of her breasts, but her skin is as cold as winter, as pale as snow.

he wonder if he should let her go.

he wonders if he's able to.

(he wonders if he wants to  
if  
she  
wants  
him  
to)

+

"what is your name?" he asks, though he knows. knows everything about her, and still not enough. _do you remember?_ he doesn't ask, keeps to himself. 

she smiles, full of pity, lips paler than they used to be, but still pink, still full, still impossibly soft as she comes close and brushes them with his, eyes brown, eyelashes full and brushing the rise of her cheekbones. 

she steals his breath, and when they draw apart, her lungs stop working.

+

she says his name when his fingers span over the expanse of her thigh, where she's still soft. the rest of her skin has lost its give, but there, on the insides, the flesh still dimples under his hands. there, the meat doesn't feel like steel or betrayal or past or bones or fight or death. it feels like her, and hunger, and it quivers as he touches his nose to the hair he finds there, between her legs, as he lets his chin get wet with her, and he drinks in her moans and sighs and when her voice cracks, he feels a rush of warmth, down his tongue and throat and hands and hips and toes.

when he stops, her is body spent, unmoving, and a buzz fills his ears, a thump rattles his chest, a drum starts beating inside of him and doesn't stop.

+

they don't leave the house. she stops eating, and answering her phone, and the front door holds against the knocks and kicks and screams - the darkness curls, there, shifting to blood-red and orange-warm and cutting-green. unnatural, like the sharp of her jaw, and the way her voice rises barely higher than a whisper.

"they are your friends" he says, because it meant something, one day.

she blinks, mouth open against the warmth of his shoulder, and doesn't move again for a very long time.

+

she bathes everyday, lets her body soak in the water and saturates herself in chemical scents because her body doesn't have its own, anymore. there's little left, in the shadows of her eyes, the corners of her mouth, in the fall of her hair.

but she touches him, certain of being allowed to, and fists his hair between her fingers before touching their lips, tongues, chests, thighs. before pulling him over her, inside of her, before pushing herself out out out and inside of him, deep, from his pores to his atoms and keeping it inside, keeping him burning orange and red and green and alive.

+

she brands him, infinitely, irrevocably, inexorably, the way death does, the way sand and despair and blood tried to but couldn't. she brands him with herself, with every little piece that was but wasn't, every little space between the cracks of what is his soul, now. she gives him forever, and whatever else, whatever goes beyond love, beyond time, beyond them.

he gives her a hole where her heart used to be and a hunger that not even a thousand souls can satisfy.


End file.
